I stayed up all night in nervous anticipation of the big event.
I’d heard so much about this milestone. Everyone who had reached it demonstrated the assured confidence that always had eluded me.
I waited patiently, knowing the clear certainty of a seasoned practitioner would descend upon me like a golden cloak of legal invincibility.
Daylight broke and nothing was changed. At noon, I felt the same. At the end of the work day, it was just another day.
By the time I fell asleep, I realized I must’ve missed the event.
Had I calculated incorrectly my 25th anniversary of practice? Did The Florida Bar erroneously record the date on which I first entered the profession? It couldn’t be.
The next day, I called Howard Coker, who always had told me about the blessed event.
He apologetically informed me the Anniversary of All-Knowingness in the legal profession had been moved: I would now have to wait until my 35th anniversary.
I apparently missed the opportunity to ascend to the level of Senior and Knowledgeable Practitioner that the 25-year lawyers that came before me had achieved.
Yet, I have learned a few things in the last quarter-century that I’m going to share with younger lawyers who apparently also will have to wait a full 35 years before achieving Howard Coker-like infallibility.
Things were different when we started practice a long time ago.
We used large bulky objects, known as books. In these “books” was printed various information for the purpose of reading without the use of electronic devices.
Lawyers sat or stood in front of entire rows of these books while posing for photographs or filming commercials in rooms known as “libraries.”
The number of books possessed by a lawyer measured her or his true knowledge of any subject.
People known as secretaries used devices called typewriters to prepare sheets of paper that had to be physically filed with the court clerk.
On most days, you could see frantic young lawyers rushing into the federal and state courthouses to actually deliver those secretary-created papers to the clerks to be stamped and accepted before that day’s deadline.
Twenty-five years ago, we had heard about a phenomenon called the Internet, which was apparently a system for linking the typewriters operated by our secretaries.
We didn’t understand it, but we rightfully feared its effect on the profession.
Twenty-five years ago, Hillary Clinton was just former first lady of a small Southern state who wore big glasses. Donald Trump was just some rich guy’s kid who was trying to get enough celebrity to enable him to grab women wherever he wanted.
Twenty-five years ago, judges were beings from another plane of existence whose every utterance reflected the wisdom and learning of thousands of years of Western legal tradition.
Pretty much nothing has changed with regard to judges.
Given that some of the judges actually read this publication, I want to make sure that I emphasize their continued status as otherworldly beings of ultimate knowledge and wisdom –– sort of like Yoda.
Now the only challenge –– for those old enough –– is to wipe our memories of any judge’s pre-ascension period of human fallibility.
Luckily, The Florida Bar has developed an app for that.
Twenty-five years ago, lawyers who had practiced for more than two decades were generally wrong about most things. They had grown complacent and couldn’t match the energy and zeal the new crop of practitioners brought to our profession.
Now however, 25 years of practice is the point at which an attorney reaches the cutting edge of the profession.
At this point in history, 25-year attorneys have much more to offer to their younger mentees and are much better looking than they were in the early 1990s.